Scorched
by coffeeclutch
Summary: Bilbo Baggins is still haunted by the ghosts of his past. Namely, the ghosts of Laketown.


** Hey, guys! Sorry it's been such a long time! Hope you enjoy this story, as it was very fun to write. I've always been a big fan of Tolkien's works but could never work up the nerve to try my hand at writing in his universe.**

**WARNING:**** Contains slight spoilers for the end of The Hobbit, and I do mean slight. But it's still spoilery, so proceed with caution.**

**Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me. None of them. At all.**

He was just walking down the street. That was all. He hadn't been disturbing anyone. But it was eerily quiet, and everything was just too _still. _He felt his stomach twist itself into knots, anxiety growing ever fiercer. Bilbo took a deep breath. There. That's better. It's just quiet. Everyone's asleep, that's all.

Then, the worst of it began. With a great _whoosh _of his wings and a malevolent chuckle, Smaug swooped down, knocking over the tops of buildings with his tail. Bilbo ducked under a collapsed roof and peered up at the creature, hoping the beast wouldn't come back and finish the job, hoping he'd be satisfied.

But of course he wasn't.

The dragon's throat began to burn red, the bright color snaking up to his mouth just as he opened his giant maw and spewed fire over the town.

"No," Bilbo whispered, and he noticed his throat was raw, but from anxiety or screaming he couldn't tell. "No!"

The flames spread quickly, too quickly, as if the beast had smothered Laketown in one giant breath. Citizens filed out of their houses quickly, but none of them screamed. None of them looked afraid. Instead, they all turned at stared at him. Him. Bilbo Baggins.

One woman in particular seemed to be leading the pack. She pointed at him, her mouth set in a firm frown.

_"Him," _she shouted, her voice hoarse. _"He's the one who did this to us!"_

"N-no! I couldn't have! I'm just—just a hobbit," he stammered, scrambling to his feet.

The woman paused, and Bilbo got his first good look at all of them. It was enough to make his stomach turn.

All of them had scorched flesh hanging off their bodies in tatters, bones exposed and muscle showing. Cracked teeth sat in decaying gums. Some were missing limbs or eyes. Those were definitely the most disturbing, for even without eyes they seemed to stare right through you.

Bilbo's eyes grew wide. "No! It wasn't me! It was the dragon!"

The woman stared at him. "Yes, it was."

Bilbo looked at his hands.

They were claws. Razor-sharp claws.

"No," he whispered, his voice quiet and afraid. He rushed to the water and started at himself.

A dragon with gleaming scales and hobbit eyes stared back at him. He shrank back in fear. Unaccustomed to his new tail, he stumbled over the rubble and crashed into another house. He opened his wings and brought down a tower.

"I'm not a dragon! I'm a hobbit!" Bilbo cried.

"Are you?" an all-too-familiar voice asked.

Bilbo turned to face Smaug, but found only his small, small hobbit-self, smiling a cruel smile and staring at him with malicious dragon eyes. Smaug laughed, the same chuckle Bilbo had heard earlier when he let fire tear the town apart.

"Could a little hobbit really do this?" Smaug asked, gesturing at the cluster of corpses and the ruins of Laketown. "No, Mr. Baggins, this kind of chaos comes from only a dragon."

Bilbo felt the anger boiling in his throat, bubbling to the surface. But what should have been a stream of ugly curses was a blast of fire, incinerating the corpses as Smaug laughed.

* * *

"Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked, tugging on Bilbo's arm. "Wake up. You're sweating."

Bilbo was launched back into reality with such ferocity that he almost jolted out of his chair. His heart was beating much too fast. He gripped the arms of the chair and took deep breaths, trying to calm down.

Frodo peered up at him with big blue eyes. "Are you alright, Uncle?"

Bilbo cleared his throat. "Fine, thank you."

"No you're not. You're shaking."

"Well, had a bit of a bad dream."

"What kind of bad dream?"

"Just...a bad one. Don't want to talk about it."

"Okay."

Bilbo smiled down at his nephew, trying to ignore the terror the dream brought upon him. "Shouldn't you be in bed anyway?"

Frodo crossed his arms. "Shouldn't _you _be in bed instead of sleepin' in that chair?"

"You're right. Both of us should go to bed," Bilbo nodded.

"But you had a bad dream. You make me tea when I have bad dreams, so I've gotta make some for you," Frodo said, grabbing Bilbo's empty tea cup and rushing off towards the kitchen.

Bilbo thought about Frodo making a fire, Frodo struggling to lift a heavy kettle over the flame and falling down onto the scorching wood.

"Frodo? Wait for me. I'll make the tea."

**Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive criticism are fabulous! Have a lovely day, dears. **


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